Where you from? Wanna read this review?

Respondents who identify themselves as residents of planet earth (62%) are much more likely than are those who self identify as residents of America or their city or town to agree that book reviews make them want to buy a book

--Zogby's Reading and Book Buying Habits of Americans survey

(via Readerville)

The changing face of the universe

For Bonaparte to be conqueror at Waterloo was no longer within the law of the nineteenth century. Another series of acts was under way in which Napoleon had no place. The ill-will of events had long been coming.

It was time for this titan to fall.

The excessive weight of this man in human destiny disturbed the equilibrium. The individual alone counted for more than the whole of mankind. This plethora of all human vitality concentrated within a single head, the world rising to the brain of one man, would be fatal to civilization if it endured. The moment had come for incorruptible supreme equity to look into it. Probably the principles and elements on which regular gravitation in the moral and material orders depend had begun to mutter. Reeking blood, overcrowded cemeteries, weeping mothers--these are formidable plaintiffs. When the earth is suffering from a surcharge, there are mysterious moanings from the deeps that the heavens hear.

Napoleon had been impeached before the Infinite, and his fall was decreed.

He annoyed God.

Waterloo is not a battle; it is the changing face of the universe.

--Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

I'm finally reading Les Mis again after ignoring it since April. Less than thirty pages of Waterloo to go. If any more horses fall into a ravine to die I'm going to throw the book across the room.

Happy eighth birthday, Readerville!

I love book forums. I love message boards that contain book folders or book threads. Because I spend so much of my day online, the opportunity to refresh a page and see brand new book recommendations or a wild frenzy of punning or an ongoing intelligent conversation has provided a dependable, nourishing break as I go about my work. Book bloggers don't post near often enough for my quotidian habits.

I love Readerville, which officially turns eight today. I've been there since it officially opened its gates and I appreciate greatly what Karen Templer has accomplished and permitted to develop. Thanks to Readerville, I've met some wonderful people, received many a free book, and spent countless online hours in the company of some of the best people out there (as well as a few who are, well, just out there). I often wish I weren't just as introverted in an online group as I am in a real life group since many are no doubt unaware that I'm there, nodding in agreement or edging away from a particular pontificator whose position I don't agree with and am tired of hearing repeated yet again, but a lot of people in real life haven't noticed I'm there either (invisibility has its benefits).

The Readerville forums are at a transitional stage right now. I hate for the place to change, but I know I'll be there regardless. I was nostalgic enough over the changes to find what I suppose to be my first Readerville post. It was made on June 20, 2000, in a Kate Atkinson discussion:

Human Croquet is my favorite of the three. Please don't be scared off by the magical realism and postmodernism designations. Last summer I insisted a Tom Clancy-loving friend HAD to read HC, and while she started out bitching and moaning, the book had her totally charmed once she quit her initial thrashing about.

Emotionally Weird isn't as good as the other two, but there are parts and characters I remember so fondly that I know I'll be reading it again. I love Atkinson's word play and how she's not afraid to take chances.

Huh. That was probably one of the longest posts I ever made there outside the inner mule post, which I reposted here.

Happy birthday, Readerville. And if you've never dropped by before, please do. You'll like the place.

Clubbing

A combo of two suggestions by: Heidi and by litlove

Have you ever been a member of a book club? How did your group choose (or, if you haven’t been, what do you think is the best way to choose) the next book and who would lead discussion?

Do you feel more or less likely to appreciate books if you are obliged to read them for book groups rather than choosing them of your own free will? Does knowing they are going to be read as part of a group affect the reading experience?

I haven't belonged to a local book group in years, but in the three that I was involved in at one time, individual members would choose the book for the month which she'd be leading. Sometimes a member would let the others vote between two or three titles she was considering, but this certainly wasn't necessary.

Unfortunately, the first group I was involved in was really just a bunch of women who wanted a coffee klatsch--best sellers reigned and my selections always revealed what an odd duck I was in that group. I was actually told that only a "strong" person like myself could enjoy reading Anne Tyler!

The second group was much better. I read my first Anne Bronte with that group and the trashiest book we read was by Rebecca Wells. But Oprah's bookclub happened and the members got lazy and wanted to read her selections instead of coming up with ones of their own. It wasn't worth the drive out to Huntersville to keep attending.

The third was a group with my friends at the library. I enjoyed this group the most--we read Orhan Pamuk together--but now we get together to play cards or go out to eat instead of discussing books.

These days I prefer online reading groups with other obsessive readers who share similar tastes. I've been much more appreciative of the new authors I've encountered this way.

Booking Through Thursday

After the storm

The greedy pig edition

Actually, these represent the last three months of book purchases. I think I should now have the willpower to make it till August without getting twitchy.

Guard Your Daughters. Diana Tutton. (Dovegrey Reader-inspired)

The Voluptuous Delights of Peanut Butter and Jam. Lauren Liebenberg. (Eve's Alexandria-inspired)

Know Nothing. Mary Lee Settle.

The Writing Class. Jincy Willet. Received it yesterday, finished it this morning. Loved, loved, loved it.

Maps and Legends. Michael Chabon

Blood and Milk. Sharon Solwitz.

Fall of Frost. Brian Hall

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. David Wroblewski (Readerville Journal-inspired; I'll take a book recommendation from Pat D. any day of the week)

The Quiet American. Graham Greene (Girl Detective read it for the same reason I intend to)

Ice Land. Betsy Tobin (Danielle-inspired) Have I mentioned we're hoping to go to Iceland next year?

Moo Pak. Gabriel Josipovici (Sandra raved over this one a year or so back; Stefanie raved about Josipovici much more recently)

When You Are Engulfed in Flames. David Sedaris. A birthday present for L. from R., but of course I want to read it, too. I bought tickets for us to see Sedaris this fall and the very next day L. received word that his class reunion will be taking place the same weekend. Eep.

Man Descending. Guy Vanderhaeghe

And for the Kindle, although I'm trying to read free classics on it for the most part: Julie Hecht's Happy Trails to You and George Saunders's The Braindead Megaphone (Dorothy-inspired).

The size of a teen-age eagle? Really?

We were all delighted when David Sedaris's latest, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, showed up in the mail yesterday. I left it for the others to read and admire, though, turning my attention to library fare, particularly David Guterson's The Other (I think I do want to read this one, but I'm going to wait till it shows up at the university library), until close to bedtime when I thought I'd quickly speed through the first offering.

To my dismay, I was thrown out of the story on the second page by this:

In Paris once, I went to my neighborhood supermarket and saw a man shopping with his cockatiel, which was the size of a teen-age eagle and stood perched on the handle of his cart.

Methinks Sedaris must have seen a cockatoo. If he'd actually seen a cockatiel he'd have phrased it thusly:

In Paris once, I went to my neighborhood supermarket and saw a man shopping with his cockatiel, which was the size of a steroid-taking parakeet and stood perched on the handle of his cart.

Sorry, Leo.